


184 - I Need My Girl (by The National)

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert, Sick/Sad Van, Songfic NonCatfish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 05:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17400704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompts “A fix based on I need my girl my the national? like where vans on tour and everyone’s telling him he’s amazin but he feels like he needs Y/N” and “Could you do one in which the reader’s Vans girlfriend and surprises him visiting him on tour? And maybe hang out exploring the city they’re in.” and “Could i request a fic where you go along w catfish on tour and when they have a day off, you and van explore the city at night. Extra points for some sneaking around?”





	184 - I Need My Girl (by The National)

You could hardly hear Van over the noise of the party in the background. Even with that though, you could tell he was upset. Maybe not upset, just… off. He'd been calling more and more, bringing up old memories. The time you'd almost killed all Bernie's good rose bushes when you accidentally drove through the front garden. You were sure nobody saw you whisper to the plants after, telling them you were sorry, but Van did. The time he broke the news to Mary he'd been kicked out of school, laughing about it when he shouldn't have. You stood in the corner of the kitchen, bearing witness to the beautiful support that is Van McCann's parents. From wherever he was in the party, Van was asking if you remembered your first date.

"Baby… What's wrong? Are you okay?" you asked, interrupting his nostalgia. A bottle smashed at the party, then there was hysterical laughter. Van muttered something about the place being filled with cannonballers. The stereo was turned up and the sound of Rancid drowned out Van's voice. "Van? Baby? I can't hear you? Babe. Call me later, from the hotel or something, okay? I love you." You hung up and sat staring at your phone for a good ten minutes before moving.

When your phone vibrated again it was almost three in the morning. Fucking time zone differences. They'd be the death of you. On loudspeaker, you listened to Van's nervous breathing.

"How was the party?" you asked.

"Ah… Yeah. Good. A party, I guess. People here are mental but," he answered. You could see the lazy shrug of his shoulder in your mind. The way his bottom lip would pout in a little confused frown at anything that wasn't within the normal realm of his existence. "Davy was there. Remember him? In that weird band with the keyboard from Bristol?"

"The one with the mohawk? Carried around a rat for a while?" you asked. The little whiskers and little pink nose popped out from Davy's pocket. Everyone at the table had made sounds of disgust, but you wanted to hold the thing.

"Yeah. Fuck. I forgot about the rats. Didn't have any with him. His new band is doin' good. He reckons I've gotten taller,"

"Have you?" you replied.

"What, in the two months I've been gone? Nah. Can't get me head around it. Probably shorter, if anything. The van is fucking with my back again. Twistin' me up."

You could hear it in Van's voice how tired he was. It made you sad, really, really fucking sad. "Aw, baby. You're alright. Get Larry to do one of them massages,"

"Yeah. I will. He's still out,"

"Larry Lau. Party animal. How is everyone? How are the crowds there?" you asked, even though you asked the same things every few days. He called too regularly for there to be any real news.

"Good. The lids all love it here. Crowds are good. Go mental and stuff. Kept asking for Rango the other night. People are dead sweet." It was all beautiful information but delivered in a deeply unsettling monotone.

"Got enough people tellin' you you're beautiful then? Doing my job if I can't be there?"

Van gave a half-hearted laugh, then he went quiet. You waited for him to speak again. "Yeah… Yeah, there are. But I need you though. Always will."

You let him talk until his voice went croaky. The sun was up by the time you hung up and there was no point in trying to sleep. The love of your life was on a different continent, lonely and sad. There was planning to be done.

…

Van was sitting on the couch facing away from you when you followed Larry through the doorway into the venue's green room. You held your hands over his eyes and asked him to guess who. He was jumping over the back of the couch before you could step away. His arms held you so tight you thought a rib might crack. Even if it did, it would be worth it to see his rabbit toothed grin and deep dimples.

"Hey, baby," you whispered.

"My girl. What are you doin' here?"

"Oh, you know. Checking on you."

After the show you stayed close to Van, your fingers all tangled and your arms and thighs pressed together. You drank foreign beer and reacquainted yourself with the guys.

"Day off tomorrow. You guys going exploring?" you asked.

"Yeah. Bob wants to go take his photos. There's meant to be a good record store somewhere too. Like, ten rooms of vinyl. We'll check that out," Bondy replied. You nodded and rolled your head on the couch to face Van. He was already looking at you, knowing what you'd want.

"So a no to staying in bed all day?" he asked. You shook your head and kissed the side of his mouth. He nodded in happy defeat.

…

Van spent the entire mid-morning breakfast judging you for your smoothie bowl. "It's just… cold fruit soup," he said in disgust.

"Van, you drink smoothies. It's the same,"

"Then why does it gotta act all fancy in a bowl? And you got the actual fruit on top? Like, don't that seem like overkill? And what's these fuckin' nuts and seeds about?" he replied in a mocking tone.

"Look, mate. I fly all the over here to see your sad fuckin' self and you just bitch about getting up on your day off and be nasty about my food. Do you want me to go home?"

He laughed and the sound was good. The others smiled, relieved to hear the sound again too. Everyone had been worried about him, despite his assurances that he was good, grounded, alright.

After food you all followed Bondy's directions to the record store. As promised, there were rooms and rooms of records. They were unsorted and dusty and the place reminded you of the time you looked through Steve Lamacq's music collection with a ripped jeaned baby Van. You sat on the concrete ground with Bondy, flicking through boxes. He knew something about all the artist, and you marvelled at his musical memory. After a while, the familiar sounds of Larry's high pitched laugh was audible through the rooms. You looked up at Bondy. He was reading the back of a record sleeve, but a small smile was on his lips. Then, a piano. There was a piano somewhere in the store and someone was playing.

"Be right back," you said and stood to follow the music.

Van was sitting dramatically hitting the piano keys. Larry had stopped laughing, but he was still close by. You sat on the bench next to Van.

"Baby," he greeted.

"Teach me?"

He nodded. You tried to let your fingers follow Van's, but it didn't come naturally to you. His moved in fluid motion from key to key; yours looked like drunk spiders. After fifteen minutes, you had Twinkle Twinkle Little Star down though, and Van kissed your cheek with pride as you played and beamed. Larry clapped for you.

Outside the store, you didn't ask where to next. Bob had already started to lead the group. After twenty minutes of walking you leaned in and whispered to Van.

"Why aren't we just taking the subway or bus or something?"

"Ain't London, babe. We get so lost so easy in places like this. Easier just to walk. Can't get too far that way," he replied with a laugh.

Another five minutes and you arrived at your destination. On the bus, you listened to the tour guide talking through the sights of the city. Benji and Bondy sat at the back. Benji had the window seat and spent only half the time paying attention to what was behind the glass. Bondy had dark glasses on and you were very sure he was asleep. Bob and Larry sat together, pointing out things to each other. Their voices were low and their shoulders knocked together whenever one of them would laugh quietly.

Van gave you the window seat, and he wrapped his arms around you and rested his head on your shoulder as you watched the city go by. It was too big to walk on foot, hence the lame tourist bus. You didn't mind. Van was warm and had colour in his skin and was okay. You'd take part in any and all stupid tourist thing to be close to him.

"Food?" Bondy said as soon as you were all off the bus. It wasn't clear if it was a suggestion, question, or demand. Regardless, everyone nodded.

It was Benji's turn to lead, which was worrying for you. Every time you'd eaten at a place picked by him, it was An Experience. Back through the city, you almost tripped as Van stopped walking, his hand still attached to yours. You flung back into him. There was a group of kids busking. They had ratty leather jackets on and were playing I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor. The guitars they had weren't branded, and the drummer's kit was basic and held together with duct tape. The little singer was screaming out the words, and you couldn't work out if English was his first language or not. He was a mess of scuffed shoes and raw talent. You couldn't help think of baby Van, and as the rest of the guys floated back to you and Van, they obviously couldn't help it either.

You all emptied your wallets into their open guitar case. It was a lot of money, and the band stopped playing.

"No! No. Keep going. You're good," Van said with a grin. The singer stared at him, nodded slowly, then launched back into the song. Halfway through the next chorus he stopped singing.

"Catfish!" he yelled, suddenly able to place their faces. Van laughed and nodded.

After photos and advice, the band told the guys they knew Cocoon.

"What? That's class! Play it then! Let's go," Van said, wrapping his arm around the kid's shoulders and walking back to their little spot on the street.

It was easily one of the messiest renditions of the song you'd ever heard, but it was filled with love and they poured their hearts into it. Van sang with the kid, and you were sure his teenage face was gonna split in half if he smiled any harder. A crowd formed, and Catfish held their hands out to strangers in invitations to dance. People were apprehensive but gave in. It was a glorious moment that could only happen because music is universal, and the boys oozed warmth and kindness.

Final hugs and farewells, you continued down the street, the sound of the band's potential-filled original track following you.

"You're a good person, Van," you said. Van looked at you a little confused, then shrugged.

…

In the restaurant, you sat around a circular table and let the wait staff pick the best dishes. The food varied a great deal from plate to plate. Some was crunchy, some goopy and made your stomach turn. Some was spicy and some reminded you of home. Better than the food was watching the guys try different things. Their faces were expressive and Bob kept taking secret photos of them.

A waiter came over and asked how everything was. Bondy pointed to the one dish he'd almost demolished on his own, saying he liked it. The waiter laughed and explained what exactly it was and how rare it was that people were so willing to try it. When he left, nobody spoke. Everyone was holding in laughter and waiting for Bondy to react.

"Mate-" Van started.

"Fuck off," Bondy said.

"Didn't even know you could… eat… that… part…" Larry said in an almost-whisper.

"Fuck. Off." Bondy repeated, downing two glasses of water.

"Don't be such a baby. If you're willing to eat one part of the animal, then you gotta eat it all," you said.

"Yeah, well, the rest is all yours, babe," he said, pushing the plate to you.

Everything else on the table was eaten. Van ran his finger through the sauce on one plate, licking it off his hands. You watched and tried to work out if it was embarrassing or endearing. Like many things about Van, it was probably a bit of both.

On the street they all lit cigarettes, still a bit giggly.

"So… Is anyone still hungry?" Benji asked.

"Mate, don't-" Bondy went to say.

"No! Ice cream. There's this place where you get to mix your own flavour,"

"Awww! Cute. Yes," you said immediately. You crossed your fingers for Nutella.

Because you were in, Van was in, which meant everyone was in. They'd never admit it, or maybe they didn't really even know they did it, but they took their cues from their frontman. Sometimes that was good, because Van was pure and persistent and dreamed big. Sometimes that was bad, because Van was reckless and mayhem and didn't always think things through.

...

"You didn't say there was exercise required," Bondy said deadpan, staring at the bike.

"All good! Bob can do it for all of us," Van laughed.

To get the base flavour of your ice cream, you'd have to ride a bike to mix it. A girl appeared.

"You don't have to ride it, but if you do the ice cream is free," she explained.

"Right. Well, I'll pay to not have to move my body," Bondy said and walked off.

There are two types of people in the world. Those that when presented with the opportunity to make their own flavour combination, think carefully. They pair logical flavours and the outcome is something sophisticated and guaranteed to be good. Bob, with his mint and chocolate chip, fell into that category. Van got there by accident. Basic chocolate ice cream with chocolate sauce. The rest of you were type 2. People that couldn't be trusted; people that mixed things that shouldn't be mixed. Benji had pop rocks and peanuts at the same time. Larry had a banana flavoured ice cream with three different types of sauce. They mixed together and looked like what you'd cough up during a bad cold. You had no idea what Bondy's was because he mixed almost the entire fucking store into his. If it were a mistake though, his face as he ate didn't give that away. You had a cheesecake flavoured ice cream, with Nutella, strawberries, blueberries, and M&Ms. The colours mixed badly, and Van made a face every time you tried to feed it to him.

"Y/N! Stop. It's gross," he said as he ducked away from you.

"I'll just grab lids for you," the girl said.

"Ha… lids," Van mumbled as he spooned more ice cream into his mouth.

"Nah, love. We'll eat on the go," Bondy said.

"That's… They're a pint each?" she replied, visibly concerned that you all planned on consuming that much ice cream in one sitting. Bondy shrugged, and you all left the store.

There was a park close by, according to Google Maps. When you got there, everyone was excited to see a pond complete with ducks. Benji, Bondy, and Larry went for a walk around the perimeter of it. You sat under a tree with Bob while Van stood at the edge of the water, looking in.

"Don't fall! Van! Be careful!" you yelled. Bob snorted.

It was easy being with Bob. His thoughtful quiet was comfortable, and you swapped ice creams for a while.

"This is horrible, Y/N," he said after eating more than you'd expect for someone that didn't like it.

You swapped back, but he put his down.

"Y/N!" Van yelled. "Y/N! Come here. Look!"

You continued to eat your ice cream.

"Y/N!"

"He's just gonna keep yelling," Bob said. You sighed and walked to Van.

"What?"

"Fuckin' look!" He pointed to a rock in the middle of the pond. Turtles. There were turtles on it. You looked in the water and watched a couple swim by. "They're everywhere!"

"Since when do you love turtles this much?" you said laughing. He'd finished his entire pint, and it explained his hyperactivity. It was a lot of sugar. He spotted the guys across the pond.

"TURTLES!" he yelled at them, pointing into the pond. You looked back at Bob, who was laughing at shaking his head.

Bob appeared at your side. He handed Van the rest of his ice cream before starting to take photos of the pond. You left him to it, following Van as he walked around trying to find the "best turtle."

The sun was setting and the air was warm and Van named a small turtle that was had a little patch of moss on its back Mike.

…

The city at night was buzzing, somehow more alive than in the day. As you walked back to the hotel, you spotted a store front illuminated with a green light. A novelty ghost hung in the window, and you recognised the logo painted on the door from the magazine you'd read on the flight over. The company ran ghost tours that walked through the old buildings in the city, including an old war hospital. Van noticed your slowing steps.

"Good?"

"Yeah…. Yeah. How do you feel about ghost tours?"

He looked to where your attention was. "Probably a load of shit, yeah? But look… I kind of owe you, so whatever you want,"

"Owe me for what?" you asked, turning to him.

"You know. Coming here. Me being a 45 percenter. All that,"

"Van… It's not like that. You know that's not how I see it," you replied, putting your arms around his neck. He nodded and glanced up ahead to where they guys had continued walking. Larry had turned around, and Van waved him off.

"Yeah. I know. So, ghosts?"

You nodded with a grin and took his head, pulling him across the road and into the store.

…

The stories the guide told were almost certainly lies. Regardless, the quiet and crumbling buildings and nervous atmosphere put you on edge. You gripped Van's hand tight and was relieved when he swapped that for an arm around your shoulder. You nestled under his arm with yours crossed over your chest. He leant down to you.

"You don't look so happy, love,"

"This is stupid," you muttered back. He held back a proper smile.

"Are you scared?"

"No. They're just ghost stories. It's not real,"

"Don't matter, do it?"

Halfway through the tour, there was respite. Between one building and the old hospital you followed the group down a busy city street. You heard Van snort, and looking up at him you saw how amused he was.

"Stop it," you whined.

"You look real fuckin' worried," he said. He stopped walking, forcing you to as well. The group continued on, not noticing your separation. "You've seen what it's all about, yeah, so let's just… sneak off. Go look at something that isn't gonna give you nightmares," he offered. Despite his annoying joy at your obvious fear, the softness of which he tucked hair behind your ear reminded you that he'd always look out for you. Biting your lip and glancing at the group, you nodded. Van quickly pulled you across the road, and you ran down the street giggling like teenagers skipping class.

Around a corner and against an alleyway wall, Van pushed up against you and grinned. He was all mischief and sharp jawbone and unyielding love. You'd remember that kiss for the rest of your life.

"So… Should we find dessert? I want cake," Van said when he stepped away from you, running his hands through his hair.

"You ate so much ice cream today," you laughed.

"Who's being mean about food choice now, hmmm?" he replied. You grinned and fell forward into his arms.

"I love when you do that,"

"What?"

"Sometimes your voice goes all pitched, like, when you're confused or being a bit of a fuck. It's so good. I love it,"

"Don't know what you're talkin' about, love," he said with a grin that meant he did know. You assumed he'd read about it online, where fans would document every small detail of his existence and fawn over it. Someone had surely picked up on the voice thing. You hoped so.

You walked hand in hand until you found a late night dessert bar. Van had mud cake and you had a fucked up mix of cookie, brownie, and cake. It was a monstrosity and you were so into it. Van flat out refused to eat it.

"You're so fuckin' weird, babe," he laughed. Simple boy who liked simple things.

Back out in the night time, you walked until there was water. Never good with geography, you weren't sure if it was lake or river or swamp, or just the same pond as before. It didn't matter. It reflected the city lights in sparkly rainbows and was lined with trees that shot up from piles of crunchy leaves.

Van sat on the grass with a cigarette as you circled him, kicking the leaves.

"Here, make us a pillow with them, would ya, love."

You collected as many as you could and watched Van fall back into them. He'd placed too much trust in their volume, and landed flat on the ground, the leaves flying out from under him. He cackled with laughter, his smoke hanging from between his lips. Standing over him, you watched as he put an arm under his head, took the smoke away and blew up at you.

"Smooth," you whispered. He nodded, grinned, and patted the bed of leaves next to him.

Cuddled up on the ground, you listened to the water and the city and leaves crackling under you.

"You all good, Van? I'll stay as long as you need me here,"

"I always need you. Everythin' is just better when you're with me," he replied, kissing the top of your head. "Can you stay for the rest of the tour? Got a seat in the van with your name on it,"

"Well, if it's got my name on it!" you laughed, picking up a leaf and twirling it above your head. You were watching it spin when Van pulled his lighter out and started to spark at the leaf. You pulled it away quickly. "Van! It's dry fuckin' leaf and we're in a pile! Are you tryna' kill us?!" He snorted and shrugged, pulling you into another kiss. Van only started trouble when he was happy, so his attempt to set fire to things was an indicator that whatever blues he had before, whatever sadness you heard between the screams of punks at a party, they were fading away with each minute you spent by his side.


End file.
